


Letters Between Lovers From Faraway

by AgeOfAlejandro



Category: Captain America: The First Avenger - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Drama, Epistolary, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-03-28
Updated: 2013-06-02
Packaged: 2017-11-02 15:52:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/370718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgeOfAlejandro/pseuds/AgeOfAlejandro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve and Bucky are separated by war. Letters are all they have.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For[](http://mwildsides.livejournal.com/profile)[ **mwildsides**](http://mwildsides.livejournal.com/) 's [prompt](http://capkink.livejournal.com/1973.html?thread=2137781#t2137781) of "Steve/Bucky, war romance" on [](http://capkink.livejournal.com/profile)[**capkink**](http://capkink.livejournal.com/).

Dear Steve,

 

Sorry I didn't write sooner. Tonight is the first real chance I've had to write a letter, since I didn't pass out after dinner for once.

Basic is hell and I want to come home so bad I can taste it. I miss you, I miss our shitty apartment, and I miss Brooklyn. Hell, I even miss the upstairs neighbor and his showtunes at three in the morning! Bugles are the worst possible way to wake up and the food is terrible. I'll take your culinary misadventures with rations anytime over the slop they call food. And worst of all, the beds are empty and cold. Guess I got too used to waking up to warm, beautiful blonds in the morning, huh? Anyway, they have us training and doing drills all day, every day, except Sundays (what's this thing you call a "weekend"?). It's all crawling under barbed wire through the mud, running with packs, endless pushups and way too much marching to be healthy. We haven't even fired a gun yet.

My CO is a lot like Sammy, that guy who used to stop by the YMCA two years ago. Remember him? Big fella, snapped his suspenders all the time, and wore that stupid hat? Every time I see my CO, I think of that drawing you did of Sammy as a little dog and have to try not to laugh.

The guys in my squad aren't so bad, though.  
\- There's Danny McCullough, a guy from Indiana. He has some good stories about the cops in South Bend, where he grew up. When this is over, he wants to go to Notre Dame and get a law degree, he says, and maybe replace the current dynasty of police chiefs in there. He says they're a bunch of weenies.  
\- Bedros Arvanigian is an Armenian kid from a little town out in California (he says it's easier to call him Pete and I can see why. What a name!). He's got a pretty girl and they've got a couple kids. He wouldn't quit showing us the pictures he has of them for about the first two days. I guess he's nervous about being so far away.  
\- Jack Savoi is a guy from New Orleans and he has got the thickest damn accent I ever heard. He says the same thing about me, though, in between muttering about being thrown in with a bunch of Yankees, and we have to slow down and repeat things for each other all the time. I have never said "pass the salt" so many times in my life as I did the first day.  
\- We also have a guy from Michigan who calls himself a "yooper", whatever that is. His name is David Erikson, and he's giant, blond, and the grimmest, most sarcastic person I have ever met. Sometimes he's funny, but a lot of the time he's just bitter. I don't know why. He doesn't talk too much, except for one liners that I'm convinced he rehearses in from of the mirror every morning, so I haven't been able to figure him out just yet.

But anyway, how is it at home? How are you and those lungs of yours? You're not getting into any fights, are you? My pay should be coming soon and tell everyone else I said hi.

 

Can't wait to come home,  
Bucky

 

 

 

  
Dear Bucky,

Don't worry about the fact that it took you a while to be able to write. I'm happy to have letters at all. I miss you, too! Everyone says hi back and that you can expect the care packages to start descending on you soon.

Basic does sound terrible, especially if you're longing for my food. I could start including recipes for you to give to the cook, if you want. Steve Roger's powdered egg and wilty carrot soup would be a hit, right? You'd be the toast of the mess hall! Sorry about the cold and the bugle, though. I'm too far away to help you with the blond problem but maybe I could send some earmuffs? I bet Mrs. Nowak would knit some if I told her who they were for. And yeah, I remember Sammy and that drawing (see enclosed). Him and his pork pie hat.  
Your squad sounds interesting (did you tell Jack it's all about the Dodgers?). I have no idea what a "yooper" is, either. Has David explained it yet?

Home is too quiet without you to liven it up, but it's OK. We've sort of got a community victory garden on the roof now, though I fear for those plants' welfare when summer arrives and the sun makes its annual attempt to cook Brooklyn into submission. Mr. Clearwater has steady work for me, as he'll take the men he can get, he says, and I guess I'm it. Almost everybody else is dames. I feel a little out of place, being one of three fellas left on the job, but it's not a big deal. It just means I spend more time holding doors open for my co-workers, I guess. I haven't been more sick than usual. Just the ever preset cough, and yes I'm painfully aware you're not here to fish me out of my own messes. I've been keeping my mouth to myself as much as I can stand it.

 

Yours,  
Steve


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: I should note that I'm using actual war letters as references for what Bucky and Steve would be experiencing (found in _War Letters: Extraordinary Correspondence from American Wars_ edited by Andrew Carroll, which is pretty amazing). Each part is intended to to stand on its own as a piece in the chronology, too, so there's been a couple letters between them now since the first part.

Dear Steve,

  


I don't think I've ever owned so many socks in my entire life. Or had this many snickers bars. The packages are still raining down! Every week I get a box and I'm pretty sure the guys in my squad are getting jealous. They seem to think I'm a lady killer who has got all the ladies in Brooklyn wrapped around my little finger (no, I tell them, I just live in an apartment full of little old widows). Tell everyone I said thank you, please? They get letters from me, too, but yours usually arrive first and how much I appreciate this bears repeating. 

I'm definitely not complaining about the endless care packages, though. Clean socks are a gift from God and if I'm running low on cigarettes I can use the snickers bars for trade. Pete in particular is always happy to give up his tobacco ration if it means chocolate (his wife has been sending him dried apricots and I guess he's getting sick of them. I think they're wonderful but it's not like we ever had apricots available in Brooklyn, right?). 

I don't know what we could do there, but I'm beginning to think we should try to move to California after I come home. From the way Pete talks about his part of it, it's all huge blue mountains, wide open skies, and green fields as far as the eye can see. And I think that sounds amazing.

  


Erikson is finally starting to open up a little bit. He comes from some half-abandoned mining town and what's been rough for the rest of us was probably even rougher in little 'hell holes' like his. "Yooper" was finally explained, too (he thought leaving us in the dark was funny, apparently). It's the upper peninsula of Michigan. I guess they have a different accent there and that's how they say "upper", although Erikson himself doesn't say the actual word that way.

Jack has finally stopped muttering about Yankees (I think repeated baseball jokes helped shut him up; that was an excellent suggestion), except when he and Danny get into friendly competitions. There's a lot of arm wrestling and "YOU DAMN YANKEE!" when Danny beats him (which is a lot). They could be like us someday, I think. I hope they keep in touch after we all deploy.

  


  


We've started combat training now and I think it might be the worst thing about basic, besides being so far from home. I think I would rather march a hundred miles than learn how to kill people, because that's what it is. I don't mind fights so much, but killing people is a totally different thing, you know? I know there's a reason for it, but I hate it so much. They have us doing bayonet drills and they're much worse than crawling under barbed wire in every possible way. Bayonets make rifles heavy and we have to lunge and snarl at each other (not kidding you - if you don't, you get push ups and God I hate push ups). Can you imagine the sight we must make? 500 grown men dancing around like fools and screeching at each other like monkeys at the zoo. If I didn't know the Nazis do the same thing, I'd suspect they'd laugh themselves sick at us.  
There's also a special way to stab someone with a bayonet, because otherwise the metal gets stuck. I really didn't need to know that (and neither did you, but misery loves company so I thought I'd share).

We're doing hand-to-hand, too (read: they're teaching us to fight dirty, as if I didn't already do that), and I keep thinking about all those Sherlock Holmes radio dramas you like so much, with Holmes' bare-knuckle boxing and baritsu. Maybe I'll teach you some moves when I come home.

I do like shooting, though. I'm pretty good at it, and it's making the officers make noises about putting me on the sniper track during my individual training period. I really don't want that but we'll see how much choice I get, I guess. I know snipers are important and all, but still.

Enough complaining about basic - how's home?

  


Yours,

Bucky

  


  


 

  


  


Dear Bucky,

If you need anything besides socks and candy, let me know OK? (also everyone says you're welcome) I'm glad to hear that the snickers are serving you well and maybe we can talk about California when you get home. I'm going to put it out there now that I really love Brooklyn, though, and may require lots of persuasion. Please thank Pete for that picture of you guys - he's really good! - and thank Erikson for me, too. "Yooper" has been driving me crazy and I really don't have the time right now to stop by the library to find it what it is. I hope Danny and Jack stay in touch, too. They sound like swell people, and I may see if I can find a Dodgers pennant for Jack before the end of basic for you to give to him.  
Don't pretend that you don't like those Sherlock Holmes radio shows just as much as I do, Bucky. Remember the time I tried to ask you if you wanted coffee during the climax of one of the shows and you practically hissed at me to shut up, even though we'd heard it before?

 

I guess pulling me out of the fire all these years served you well when it comes to the hand-to-hand, at least? I'm sorry you have to learn how to kill people and I wish I could be there for you in person. I hope you get more choice about what you end up doing so you don't have to be a sniper if you don't want to.  
(You're right, I didn't need or want to know that about bayonets. Thanks a lot)

 

 

Home continues to be boring. The apartment garden is doing well. The younger kids tend it in the afternoon while the rest of us are at work, and we should be getting some nice vegetables out of it (IF it survives the dead of summer of course, and that's looking like it might be a big 'if' since it's only June and it's already pretty hot). The rest of what's going on, I'm sure you are told in other letters so I'll leave the gossip out today.

Work is not OK, really. There's only two fellas left now outside management, Ted and me (Jeff shipped off to basic a week ago), so the boss has us running all over the factory. I don't see why he won't let dames do what we, since abut half what we do is is running confidential documents around. They're in a sealed envelope. It's like he doesn't trust gals or something and I don't understand,. It's new, too! A year ago Mr. Clearwater didn't care who ran what document where, so long as it got done. I think maybe it's because there's so many dames in the workforce now and he developed a problem with that. I'm probably not wording it right, but everything about it bothers me. I've kept my head down, though (and hated every minute of it!). I don't think being one of the few guys left our age in Brooklyn will help me much if I get fired.

 

 

Anyway. I miss you, Bucky. Try not to upset your CO again.

 

 

Always,  
Steve


	3. Chapter 3

 Bucky!

I got in! I can't talk about it too much and it's just provisional at the moment, but Bucky, I'm a soldier now. I know you don't want me joining (and yes I understand why, even if I don't agree), but gosh, by the time this gets to you, I'll have already been at basic for two weeks already!  
I'm finallybeing given the chance to contribute in a way that really matters.

Anyway, I'm just dashing this off to let you know and to tell you I'm getting everything all wrapped up before I go.

Miss you already,  
Steve

 

 

Dear Bucky,

I hope you've settled in OK and that you're safe, wherever they've put you.

Anyway, they've sort of got me doing a different version of basic than they had you doing (I'll explain what I can when we see each other again - it's too long and strange for a letter) but I think they're alike in the ways that matter. My powdered egg and carrot soup is preferable to what they feed new recruits, bugles are awful, and push ups are the worst. I'm suffering the same cold and empty bed problem you were, too.

My squad is made up of other men in the provisional program, but I'm not sure I'm going to like them as much as you liked yours. I have an Erikson of my own, named Hodges, but he's not funny. Ever. He's just angry and mean to anyone smaller than he is. Michael is a tall, lanky kid from Oregon, who is cool and distant and very smart.  
I did make a new friend, though. Her name is Peggy, she's British and a little bit terrifying. I think you'd like her, once you two got to know each other.

Anyway, how are you? How is your new squad and everything?

  
Always,  
Steve

 

 

Dear Bucky,

I'm hoping there's a letter or two that got lost in the mail, instead of either of the things I'm worried about. You're not mad at me, are you? It's been a month and a half since I wrote you and I haven't gotten anything back.  
Boot is still awful, Peggy is still my only friend here, and I miss you a lot.

  
Write back soon,  
Steve

  

 

 

Steve,

I was upset and didn't know how to respond. I'm still upset and I'm still not sure I'm responding right. Everything I've been telling you is still true and I don't want your scrawny behind to get hurt!  
God, do you know what it would do to me if you got hurt -- or even worse and you died? Steve, you're all I have!

Bucky

 

 

Dear Bucky,

If I'm not accepted into the program permanently, I'll go home and not try again, I promise. I'm sorry I upset you and I know your worries are better founded than I want to admit to, perhaps. You're not a reckless idiot like I am.  
  
Steve


End file.
